Back across the snow-strewn desert,
Fighting famine face to face,
Trusting to his horse to take him
To each former camping place.
Once Zeb stopped beside a snowdrift
With a loud and startling neigh;
Tried to tell his half-dazed master
Where his mate, old Simon, lay.
Pressing on, he reached the border
Of Nebraska's whitened plain,
Where his mind in maudlin fancies
Yielded to the bitter strain,
As he saw far in the distance,
Like a battered mast at sea,
Once again the twisted branches
Of the lone and friendly tree.

[Illustration: "Once again the twisted branches
Of the lone and friendly tree."]


4

"Git up, Zeb. Come, see! She's waving!
Waving there for you and me.
See her there, so white and pretty,
Standing by our friend, the tree!
Quit that stumbling! Now then, streak it!
Hit the gait you used to do